[ He doesn't want to take it. All they're doing is opening a can of worms he has no desire to deal with--here, with her, or with anyone else. Some feelings, you just lie down in the dark somewhere and wait for them to pass, or walk it off until you really are fine.
But goddamn if he wants to waste an opportunity to touch Kyna. And some part of him, the part that lives with pain and loss and loneliness, fear and anger, but never loves any of it...maybe he wants this to be a burden shared. Even if he can't admit it to her. Even if he can't admit it to himself.
Before he reaches out, he fixes her with a look. ]
We're not watching that fight.
[ Mostly because he lost, and he lost badly. Even an echo of it, maybe with the echo of what it felt like to have everything in his life jump the rails--that's more than he wants her to know. More than he wants to remember right about now. It's still a fresh wound.
And then, fool that he is, he takes her hand in his. His hand's callused again--he hadn't noticed in the other world, hadn't had reason to, that his palms and fingertips were softer there. Hers is...not delicate, exactly, but smaller and fine-boned and warm, and if anyone walks out here and finds them like this, it'll kill him.
Everything in there, it's still the same, but there's an added sort of guardedness as well--like he's tensed to spring away if he needs to. ]
no subject
But goddamn if he wants to waste an opportunity to touch Kyna. And some part of him, the part that lives with pain and loss and loneliness, fear and anger, but never loves any of it...maybe he wants this to be a burden shared. Even if he can't admit it to her. Even if he can't admit it to himself.
Before he reaches out, he fixes her with a look. ]
We're not watching that fight.
[ Mostly because he lost, and he lost badly. Even an echo of it, maybe with the echo of what it felt like to have everything in his life jump the rails--that's more than he wants her to know. More than he wants to remember right about now. It's still a fresh wound.
And then, fool that he is, he takes her hand in his. His hand's callused again--he hadn't noticed in the other world, hadn't had reason to, that his palms and fingertips were softer there. Hers is...not delicate, exactly, but smaller and fine-boned and warm, and if anyone walks out here and finds them like this, it'll kill him.
Everything in there, it's still the same, but there's an added sort of guardedness as well--like he's tensed to spring away if he needs to. ]